


Lay down. Drink tea. Get better.

by sassygayhales (EternalxBond)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek reluctantly takes care of him anyways, Fluff, M/M, Sick Stiles, Stiles acting like being sick is the end of the world, and whining up a storm, lots and lots of whining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalxBond/pseuds/sassygayhales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is sick with a cold, and Derek reluctantly takes care of him. A lot of whining ensues. A /lot/.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay down. Drink tea. Get better.

Derek's left ear twitched slightly as he rummaged through the Stilinksi cupboards, shoving aside a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips and an almost-empty jar of peanut butter. As far as he could tell, they had no actual food in the house – just odds and ends, condiments, and things long expired, forgotten way in the back.

 

Luckily, he wasn't looking for actual food; just honey. He could smell it in here _somewhere_ , and he could hear the water in the kettle beginning to bubble, meaning – yep, there it was. That loud, piercing _shriek_ that had him striding back to the stove, forcing himself to keep his eyes from screwing shut so he wouldn't burn his hand as he reached for the source. He grabbed and held it as far from himself as he possibly could, twisting his head with a pained grimace so he could muffle one ear against his shoulder, his free hand covering the other. The sound felt like it was literally stabbing him in the brain, threatening to ruin any chance he had of hearing or even _thinking_ again, but just as quickly as it came, it went.

 

It took him a moment to realize this, what with the noise still echoing around in his head and lighting down his spine, every muscle tense and trying to curl inward; but once he did, he slowly began unravelling himself. He set the kettle back down on a cool burner, unclenching his teeth and working his jaw a bit to get it moving once more, blinking his vision clear. He should've caught it sooner – he'd heard the water in time, but he'd been so sure he'd been about to find that honey ...

 

He growled softly to himself, briefly scowling at the open cupboard as if it was at fault for his ordeal. Of course, he was really just scowling at the Stilinskis for having such a disorganized kitchen, and continued to frown as he poured the hot water into a coffee cup which contained a small, homemade package of herbs. After making sure it was steeping correctly – which included leaning in for a sniff – he returned to the cupboard for round two, homing in on the honey surprisingly quickly this time. He took a moment to observe the clear, bear-shaped bottle which was turned amber by the liquid inside; he could easily imagine Stiles trying to convince his father that they required _this particular_ bottle of honey and not one of the far more normal containers, probably along with stories of bear hugs when he gets his toast in the morning or something equally ridiculous.

 

Derek shook his head as he brought the bottle over to the cup, leaning in to sniff at it once more and determine if it was ready yet. Satisfied, he placed the honey on the counter next to it, and proceeded to rummage through drawers until he found a spoon while contemplating just how he was going to go about doing this without getting honey all over fucking everything, because that _always_ happened to him when he tried and he rarely took sweeteners in his own drinks and – well, Stiles had better appreciate the shit out of this.

 

His worst fears were realized, and once he was making his way up to Stiles' room – tea in hand – he couldn't stop licking at his own fingers to try and get the residual, sweet stickiness off of them. It seemed like no matter how much he mouthed them they would never be clean again, putting him in an even worse mood as he irritably wiped his hand on his pants before grabbing the door handle.

 

Upon pulling it open, he was met with a gruesome sight – or at least that's what Stiles would probably have him believe. The teenager was sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, halfway to the door with his arms stretched out in front of him and reaching valiantly, his legs kicking in a fruitless effort to move forward.

 

His eyes falling on Derek, he dug one elbow into the floor, pulling himself to it with a great amount of effort as he sniffled loudly and reached out with his other hand, flopping entirely to the ground with a mournful whine. “Dereeeeeeeek~!” he moaned pathetically, kicking his legs a little again. “You took too long and I have to pee and I can barely move and how could you ever leave me alone like that and what if I _died_!?” he wheezed, taking more breaths than usual to recover from his run-on sentence.

 

Derek just stared, his eyebrows slowly crawling up his forehead. When it was apparent that he wasn't going to reply anytime soon, Stiles whined again and dug another elbow into the carpet, dragging himself forward a few more inches before collapsing once again, panting and reaching up to wipe at his nose in a futile effort to stem the steady drip of snot there.

 

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch, you heartless bastard?” the teen asked indignantly, pointing at Derek vaguely with a hand which, he realized with a disgusted grimace, was now covered in nasal fluid. He lifted his arm, snotty hand going limp as he held it away from himself and made another face, lolling his tongue out.

 

Derek finally rolled his eyes and stepped over the languishing youth, placing his cup of tea on the shelf behind Stiles' bed and throwing his box of tissues onto the floor in his general direction. Stiles flailed his way over to it, grabbing a handful of tissues and wiping at his hand before blowing his nose with one of the ugliest noises Derek had ever heard – it was like a cross between a goose honk and a dying seal, which Stiles seemed to be trying his hardest to emulate as he wriggled bonelessly on the ground.

 

The teen tossed the used tissues back up onto the bed, allowing them to join their brethren in an increasingly large pile which was apparently too large to fit into his own trashcan. With yet another valiant effort, he began trying to crawl toward the door again, all while huffing and puffing and whining up a storm.

 

It was a pathetic, yet highly amusing sight that Derek was quite content to watch for a few moments before deciding that it really would be best to help him – he _was_ trying to take care of him here, and rolling around on the carpet didn't seem like the best place for a sick teenager. The werewolf gingerly stepped over to him, reaching down and trying to grab his arm to help Stiles up, but soon found his hand being weakly slapped at.

 

His brow knitted with confusion. “Stiles, I'm trying to help – ”

 

“No,” Stiles snapped, now just slapping at Derek's leg. “I don't want your help, you big, stupid meanie.”

 

“... You asked if I was going to stand and – ”

 

“No!” the teen shouted, trying to crawl past him instead. “I can ... do this ... on my own!” he wheezed, only making it a foot or so before collapsing into a panting heap once again. “Nnnnnh, I'm gonna get a rug burn from all of this, and it's gonna be all your fault and you're such a – no, Derek, stop!”

 

Derek had rolled his eyes, leaning down and wrapping his arms around the youth's middle, heaving him up like a sack of bricks. Or maybe wet noodles – yes, that seemed to be more Stiles' consistency at the moment.

 

“You have legs,” the older man huffed, “so use them. I know you're a big boy.”

 

“No I'm not! I mean – ” Stiles frowned, tilting his head so he could pout at Derek. “No, I don't, my legs don't work because _someone_ decided to just leave me here to die like a bastard.”

 

Stiles raised his arms and relaxed all the tension in his muscles, defiantly becoming a lot harder to hold on to, causing Derek to awkwardly grip his shirt and try to haul him back up. It only took a moment of struggle and flailing before Stiles was back on the ground, shirtless, with a deeply scowling werewolf looming over him. The teen pouted for all he was worth, splayed with limbs out at odd angles. When Derek merely continued to scowl back at him, he stuck his tongue out childishly, a little ' _Nnh!_ ' noise accompanying it, which finally seemed to set Derek off entirely.

 

He threw Stiles' shirt off to the side and reached down again, this time hauling Stiles up and over his shoulder almost effortlessly, noodly muscles be damned.

 

“Dereeeeeeeeek! Not _faiiiiiiiiiir_!” Stiles wailed, beating pathetically at the wall of muscles that were now carrying him down the hall and into the bathroom.

 

“You brought this on yourself.” Derek replied gruffly, depositing him onto the toilet and turning to walk out.

 

Stiles grabbed at his shirt, almost being dragged back onto the floor with the force. “Waiiiit, I don't even have my pants down. And I don't sit when I pee, what do you think I am?” he pouted before snorting air in through his nose loudly, apparently determined to make this as difficult as humanly possible.

 

Derek just eyed the hand on his shirt, and then raised his eyebrows at the sick teen. “I thought your legs didn't work. You're just going to have to sit, aren't you?”

 

Stiles gaped at him indignantly, mouth opening and closing like he was going to say something but couldn't find the words. The effect was such that he just looked like a pale, sweaty, snotty fish out of water, and with that in mind Derek gave him a smug grin and left, closing the bathroom door behind him.

 

He decided to grab a spare plastic grocery bag to stuff all the used tissues into (without actually touching them of course – he may not have been able to get sick from Stiles' germs, but he certainly wasn't going to put his fingers all over them either), tossing the half-full bag so that it sat on the floor within reach of the bed and setting the box of kleenex back on the shelf. By the time he was finished, Stiles was slowly shuffling back into his room, still snorting and wheezing and complaining, but he was walking.

 

“I knew you had it in you,” Derek said dryly, pointing to the bed. “Lay down. Drink tea. Get better.”

 

Stiles looked like he was about to protest, when Derek just raised his eyebrows slightly. If he wanted another trip on the werewolf's back, he wasn't going to deny that, and the teen seemed to get the picture – he obediently shuffled over to the bed and just sort of collapsed onto it, his feet hanging off the end. He whined, struggling to pull himself up to his pillow. “This is terrible, my entire body is revolting against me; what did I ever do to deserve this?” he asked, and as if in sentient response, his body was suddenly wracked with a loud sneeze.

 

Derek winced at the noise. “You'll be fine in a day or two, stop complaining. And drink your tea.” He didn't get honey all over his hands and most of the bottle for Stiles to just let it go cold.

 

“You're so meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeean,” Stiles whined, blindly reaching for the tissues. He slapped at the shelf a few times before becoming aware that he'd have to sit up to reach them anyway, and let out a mournful wail at this realization.

 

After a too-long struggle with gravity, a lot more honking and snorting and sniffling, and Derek pointing out the drink he'd made a third time, Stiles was finally sitting in his bed, leaning against the back and taking his first sip of it. He made a bit of a face at first – but he'd been making a lot of faces today, so Derek wasn't entirely sure what this one meant, if anything. He took another sip, making less of a ... whatever that face was, and then a third.

 

“This is pretty good ... for what I can taste, anyways.” he finally announced, slurping up some more. “What's in it?”

 

Derek glanced up from where he was sitting nearby, giving a small shrug. “Medicinal herbs from the forest. And honey.” Honey that he could still probably find if he licked at his fingers enough.

 

Stiles gave a bit of a curious look, and then a loud sniffle. “From the forest? I didn't realize you would even know which herbs were medicinal. I mean, it's not like werewolves get sick with colds, right?” he asked, before his eyes lit up and he stared at Derek. “Or do they? And you just don't want to tell anyone? Do you get all whiny and stuff when you're sick? Oh man, I bet you're the complete worst~” the teen grinned, seeming to be quite entertained by this idea.

 

Derek rolled his eyes. “We don't get sick.”

 

“So ... Why do you know what herbs make a good tea for colds?”

 

The alpha's expression became laced with irritation, especially as Stiles suddenly sneezed loudly, just barely stopping his tea from splashing all over himself in the process. “Does it matter? It works.”

 

“I guess not, I just don't see why you can't tell me,” Stiles replied with a sniffle, peering over the edge of his cup as he drank a few more sips, nearly finished already. “I mean, I'd like to know what I'm drinking; this isn't some kind of werewolf date rape drug, is it?”

 

Derek's eyes rolled upwards as he closed them, taking a deep breath. “No, Stiles,” he said surprisingly calmly as he opened his eyes again, though it was still apparent that he was tempering himself. He gestured slightly with his hands, glancing away from him with a soft huff. “We had humans living with us.” he finally replied, still keeping his gaze averted and his expression vaguely annoyed.

 

Stiles paused, still peering over his cup. After a moment he replied with a simple “Oh,” and continued slurping the drink, falling blissfully quiet on the subject.

 

Derek remained silent as the sick teenager sipped, snorted, and sneezed some more, idly wondering how many days of this he _would_ actually have to endure. He wasn't sure if he could make it, especially with how high-maintenance the youth seemed to have become. This was just over a _cold_ , and not even a bad one at that, despite Stiles' dramatic acting for his benefit.

 

He was eventually brought out of his thoughts as Stiles set his cup down, squirmed back down onto his bed and wriggled under the covers with a whine. It seemed like he'd descended into the cold stage of his fever, shivering even as sweat beaded on his brow, and soon his listless, yet pleading expression was resting on Derek.

 

“Dereeeeek,” he whined feebly, flopping his arm under his blanket as if he wanted to reach for him, but couldn't find the energy to.

 

“What.”

 

“I'm coooooooold,” he pouted, shivering for added effect.

 

Derek let out a little sigh. “You have a fever.”

 

“But I'm still cold! And I probably wouldn't be so cold if _someone_ hadn't stolen my shirt earlier.”

 

“... I didn't _steal_ – ” Derek stopped himself mid-argument, deciding that it was a moot point anyway – Stiles was just being fussy.

 

The youth finally managed to free an arm from the blanket, weakly reaching in Derek`s direction and making grabbing motions with his hand, pouting even more.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“Dereeeeek ...”

 

“Stop _doing that_. That's just going to make me never want to answer to my own name again.”

 

Stiles gave him the most offended look he could muster, which was still quite a pathetic one. “You'll have sex with me but you won't come keep me warm when I'm sick? How heartless are you?”

 

Derek remained mostly unmoved, though his eyelids fluttered slightly with indecision.

 

The youth sighed, rolling over and facing away from him, curling up under the covers and shivering again, his teeth chattering slightly. “Fine.” he murmured, “I don't want your stupid, hot ass over here anyway. See if I care.”

 

Silence ... and then the slight creak of the chair as a weight was lifted off of it. Stiles blinked blearily as Derek was suddenly sliding onto the bed, nudging him to move over. There wasn't exactly a lot of room on the bed, so he was pretty much forced into pulling Stiles half onto himself – something the teen was all too happy to do.

 

“Heh, I knew you liked cuddling.” he murmured groggily, nuzzling into Derek's chest and laying his arm across him, along with weakly hooking a leg around one of Derek's.

 

“This bed is tiny.”

 

“You have your arm around me.”

 

“If I didn't, you'd fall off.”

 

“... Then why're you ... rubbing my back ...” Stiles words grew more and more sluggish, his eyes drooping. The feeling of a warm hand pressed against his clammy skin soothed him, despite the fire in his forehead and the aches throughout his body; everything seemed to hurt a little less at the gentle rubbing motion, not to mention the warmth he was curled around. He vaguely wondered if the tea hadn't had some kind of sleep-inducing properties to it after all, or if Derek's body and hand were just that magical.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep.”


End file.
